


Not Worn Off

by Daegaer



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Lost Love, M/M, Middle Age, Psychic Abilities, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long time since Mamoru thought about what he gave up, but seeing Nagi reminds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Worn Off

**Author's Note:**

> Set over 24 years post-Gluhen

Mamoru shifted a fraction in his chair, thinking longingly of lunch. He should have left this meeting to younger men, he thought, men whose knees and hips had not yet decided they hated them. Perhaps it was time to give up the day job, he mused, as the latest in a long line of business associates rose to give his financial report. It wasn’t like the company actually _needed_ a Takatori at the helm, and if it did, why should it be him? Let the next generation go grey early.

Maybe he would give up the night job instead, of course – he could find someone else for Kritiker to wear down. Then he could just meander through his days peacefully, as bored by everything as the current speaker’s secretary, a man of about Mamoru’s age, who was half-turned away, his face obscured by a hand held up to his forehead. The man beside him elbowed him muttering something and was brushed off with an irritated gesture that stirred something in Mamoru’s memory. The man’s neighbor spoke to him again, and was brushed off even more brusquely, with an oddly stilted gesture that made it clear the man was actively trying to hide his face. Mamoru frowned, and put on his glasses, squinting a little. He really had to make time to go to the optician. It was, finally, the way the man quickly brushed his hair back from his eyes that prompted his all-too-loud gasp of recognition.

Somewhat guiltily, Nagi looked over at him, and sighed.

 

* * *

 

“Isn’t it beneath your professional dignity to have lunch with someone like me?” Nagi said, scanning the menu. “What advantage can I bring your company?”

“You could crush my competitors,” Mamoru said. He tried to stop smiling. It really was beneath his dignity to smile so much. He was not a boy any more. “Unless all of that stuff wore off?”

“Wore off?”

“It does sometimes, you know, in TV shows and novels.”

“Ah. That’s what passes for research in Kritiker these days, is it? No, it didn’t wear off.”

Nagi wasn’t smiling, but his particular not-smile meant he was amused and relaxed, as much as he ever was. Mamoru was surprised he remembered the expression so well, and surprised too how easily he had slipped right back into wanting to keep that not-smile on Nagi’s face.

“So, you and Takeda-san – I wouldn’t have thought he’d need someone like you. He does know about you, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, yes,” Nagi said. “I like to put my cards on the table – I went straight to him and said, _Takeda-san, I think you should know – I’m not a Buddhist_. You needn’t worry, he’s not prejudiced against Christians.” He waved the waiter over. “We’re ready to order.”

Mamoru waited until they were alone again, taking in the oddity of a Nagi who made any sort of joke at all. He must be happy, working for Takeda, he thought, and felt foolish at the pang of jealousy. It had been a long time since Nagi had worked for him; they owed each other nothing.

“I advise him in a purely mundane way,” Nagi said. “He doesn’t know anything else about me.”

“Huh?” Mamoru said, then, trying to recover, “Why? What do you mean?”

“I just advise him on matters of computer security,” Nagi said. “I decided to try living like one of you people.” The wry twist to his mouth at Mamoru’s quizzical expression was neither a smile nor his amused not-smile. “All of you people seem to manage it just fine. It must have something going for it. I thought it would be a distraction for a while. You weren't supposed to notice me today – I just wanted to see you in the flesh. You look like shit in newspaper photos.”

“Most of _we people_ want to be something other than what we are,” Mamoru said, ruefully thinking that the cameras probably added at least five kilos. He hated all the recent pictures of himself. “Haven’t you seen all the rubbish talent shows on TV? An awful lot of people would love to be like you, or Crawford and Schuldig. How are they, by the way?”

Nagi’s expression shut down in a way that said he was on dangerous ground. Fair enough, Mamoru thought, he didn’t much like talking about what had happened to his friends either. He changed the subject.

“Twenty-four years! A long time. You’re looking well.”

“Yeah,” Nagi said. “Here we are, fat and old.” The not-smile came back. “Well, _I’m_ not fat. And I’m younger than you.”

"Hey, I'm in good shape for my age. I'm not even fifty yet."

"Not for the next six weeks, anyway."

They both fell silent, Nagi concentrating a little too intently on his food, as if he had given too much away. Mamoru thought of all the things he'd wanted to say, over all the years, and was heartily glad that Nagi was not a telepath.

"Married?" he asked, like he was asking about the weather.

Nagi grimaced. "No. I was. It didn't take. How're the kids?"

"Another two," Mamoru said. "They're both girls as well. The first two are married now – I adopted Mariko's husband as my heir."

Nagi was doing his best to look interested, Mamoru had to give him that. "Yeah? Why not Kikuno's?"

"She wouldn't listen to sense, she married a guy she met in college who's an _artist_. Hair down to his ass, a lump of metal shoved through his nose and he holds _happenings_ in trendy, expensive venues. That I pay for."

Nagi outright laughed; a short, dry sound that seemed to surprise them both. "You _have_ got old. I should dig out surveillance images of the crap you used to wear."

"Don't you dare, I don't want to give him excuses for anything – ah, hell, he may be a hippy, but as long as Versailles makes her happy –"

" _Versailles?_ You have got to be fucking kidding me. Can he even pronounce it?"

"No," Mamoru said in deep satisfaction. The years were gone all at once and they were as they had been, Nagi shaking his head in disgusted contempt at the world, Mamoru trying to provide a more charitable take on things – but not this time, the thought, _Versailles_ , for fuck's sake. Nagi sat back casually, his arm on the back of the chair, looking round the room; keeping an eye out for potential threats as he had so often before. Ignore the grey in his hair, Mamoru thought, don't look at the lines at the corners of his eyes. They were both still young; he still had time not to say the things he had said. This time he could choose his own life.

"I should be getting back," Nagi said. "Thanks for lunch. We should do this again some time if you can fit it into your schedule." He started to rise and Mamoru reached out quickly to grab him, letting go almost as quickly as his fingers touched Nagi's wrist. Nagi looked at him as if he had gone mad, but he still had all his fingers so Mamoru decided he must not be too annoyed.

"I have an opening for a bodyguard," he said.

"No, you don't."

"It's my company. I can create as many positions as I want –"

"Mamoru," Nagi said, and stopped. "I have a job," he said at last.

"Where you pretend to be something you're not. Something _less_ , something _boring_ -"

"Mamoru, stop. Don't have a mid-life crisis because of _lunch_ , that's just pathetic."

"I'm not, I'm just trying to apologise, I was stupid –"

At least Nagi was sitting down properly again. "I was always the clever one," he said. "So listen to me, because I still am. You have a very prominent position, Mamoru, and it's only become more prominent in the last twenty years and the paparazzi have got more inventive. Things haven't got easier. And that's leaving aside the fact that you're a respectable married man. A grandfather, for God's sake! Can you take a breath and remember all that? What you have to lose?"

"Yes," Mamoru said meekly, looking at the table cloth.

"Good," Nagi said, taking a deep breath. He pulled a card holder from his pocket. "This would have been politer when you first came up to speak to me, but an old friend always told me I have no manners."

He took a card out and held it out, perfectly politely, for Mamoru to take. It was plain white stock, good quality card and read _Naoe Nagi. Security Consultant_ and a telephone number.

Mamoru stared at it for several moments before fumbling his own card holder out. His own cards bore only his name and his phone number, printed on even better card. The sort of people he usually gave cards to didn't need to be told what position he held in the company. Nagi looked at it long enough to be polite, then slipped it into his card holder and safely away.

"I – I may need to consult with you on matters of security," Mamoru said.

"You have my number," Nagi said, standing. "I am always discreet."

Mamoru felt the touch of invisible fingers on his face, cupping his cheeks, stroking his cheekbones.

"Nothing wore off, Mamoru," Nagi said. "Nothing." He bowed and walked off without another word.

Mamoru sat there until his people came to remind him of the next meeting. He felt as carefree and reckless as a boy, as he had always felt when about to risk it all without any fears for what was to come.


End file.
